


In Some Future They Will Think of Us

by ultimatebara



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series, 悪魔城ドラキュラＸ ～血の輪廻～ | Castlevania: Rondo of Blood
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Light Angst, Multi, a bit of comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:08:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28325079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultimatebara/pseuds/ultimatebara
Summary: Richter finds a painting during his search for Annette in the castle.He doesn't understand why there's a Belmont in a painting in Dracula's castle of all places.
Relationships: Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades, background Richter Belmont/Annette
Comments: 6
Kudos: 68





	In Some Future They Will Think of Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aquilaofarkham](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquilaofarkham/gifts).



> This was my present for Aquila for a secret santa in the castlevania server!  
> I hope you all enjoy this as I enjoyed writing and drawing!
> 
> The title is from Sapho's poem in her book The Art of Loving Women

The darkness of the hallway he found himself seemed to be the same as the hallway he went through many hallways before and those before those. Richter stopped, took a deep breath and leaned on the wall, resting his body against the cold stones.

He didn’t want to admit he was lost, having analyzed the layout of Castlevania before his trip, having memorized every crane and room, knowing the stairs he had to take to find Dracula and save Annette. As he slid to the floor, putting the candle holder down to give his wrist a rest, he thought back to the words in his grandfather’s grimoire: the castle is an entity of Chaos and it will never have the same form as in previous times.

He adjusted the bandages around his left wrist and let his head fall back against the wall. The hallway had a stale smell; no windows to help with ventilation. He looked at both ends of the hallway, sweat rolling down the back of his neck.

“I’m not lost.” he whispered to himself and took a deep breath again, tasting the air “I’m resting.”

It had been a while since he saw daylight, having travelled at night and now, in the entrails of the castle, he couldn’t be certain of how much time had passed since he entered that labyrinth. With a hand on his forehead, he thought back to Annette.

What horrors could she be going through in the Clock Tower, held prisoner to a monster such as Dracula. His blood boiled with the mere thought of him touching a single strand of her hair.

“Oh, Annette.” he looked at the ceiling, cold stones that separated him from his love “I’m coming for you.”

He shivered, hot sweaty skin against the wall stones, but he didn’t mind, stretching his legs. The dust danced in front of his eyes and he exhaled, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. The rattling of Morning Star’s chain against the floor a reassurance in the darkness and uncertainty of his present.

The candles’ light swirled a moment and he held back his breath, unmoving by the candle holder. He turned his head slowly, eyes analyzing the flames movement and, soon, they gave a small wave in his direction.

He paid attention to its movements and got up slowly, grabbing the candle holder once he was on his feet. Richter gave a few slow steps along the hallway, watching as the flames danced as he walked. A soft touch on his left cheek and shoulder made him shudder; a cold draft coming from his left.

His fingers touched the stones, sliding over it. A small thought of how long those stones had been in that place, in that same wall, crept into his mind, but he suppressed it when he felt the draft against his fingertips. He gave a small push, feeling the wall give in, so he pushed harder and heard the heavy drag of it against the floor.

Immediate relief came over him as a cold wind touched his hot skin and he took a deep breath, not tasting the stale air anymore. It was still dark on the other side of the wall, but he could see light in the distance against the floor, indicating a door of sorts on the other end.

He stepped forward and noticed he had walked into a room. His free hand hovered over the Morning Star as he walked around the place. The flames danced over the candles, in Richter’s direction and he walked against it, finding a white curtain. He pulled it aside, uncovering a grand window; its glass was divided in panels and painted in black, preventing the light from coming in. One of the panels was broken in one of its sides, from which the wind came and soothed Richter’s senses.

He opened the window and took a deep breath, smelling the wet soil and the night wind, calming himself. From the window, even in the night’s darkness, he could see the mountains in the distance and the tall trees in the valley. The night around the castle was quiet, timid; just the recurring shriek of a bat.

Richter’s eyes watched the scenery and he sighed. The moment he stepped inside the castle, the Belmont blood stirred inside him. From generation to generation, the Belmonts were destined to fight against monsters and the dark forces, but, in the quiet of the night, under the moonless sky, Richter noticed that it would one day end. The lineage querel, the blood feud, one day would find its end and what would happen to the clan?

What would the Belmont family become when the rope between them tear?

Richter looked at his hand on the windowsill and his thumb caressed the stone. It looked as new as if the castle had been built not long ago. He turned around, decided on ignoring these troubling thoughts, but his eyes fell on a red drape on the opposite wall.

He walked closer to it, drawn to it’s deep red. It felt filthy against his fingers, the smell of dust filling his nose, but he could feel the velvety fabric under the layers of it. He pulled it away slowly, noticing the corner of a golden frame, which he passed his fingertips over it, feeling the bumps of its engravings.

Richter didn’t understand art, but he knew when something had value. He pushed the drape with the back of his hands, seeing a signature on the bottom left corner and then the painting. There was no moon in the sky, the darkness repelled by the flames in his hand, so he took a moment to understand what his eyes had fallen upon. There were greens forming grass, soft and bright as only spring could give, a thick tree trunk and two people under its foliage, the sky on the horizon.

There was a man leaning against the tree trunk, arms crossed and legs stretched, clearly resting. Near him, a woman with short hair showing him a book, pointing to its words. The canvas was stained on a few places, even covered with a heavy drape couldn’t keep time’s grasp away from it.

He noticed it was nothing more than a painting, but his eyes couldn’t tear from it. It could be anyone depicted in it, no one that Dracula knew, no one that mattered to the people in this castle, to the people who used the room he was standing in. However, the man against the trunk caught his attention and he brought the candle closer, careful not to burn the canvas.

His fingers traced the painting and he squinted, noticing something on the man’s shirt. He frowned, trying to understand the engraving until he felt coldness run down his spine and his eyes went between the two people in the painting.

Engraved in the man’s shirt was the Belmont crest. He gave a step back and confusion overcame him, followed by a sudden ire making him uncover the painting with a single pull of the drape.

The people in the painting - dated back to three hundred years back - were long dead, by one way or another. However, what could a painting with a Belmont in it be doing in the castle of someone who wanted nothing with them, who was destined to die by their hands, puzzled him.

He changed the candle holder to his right hand, tracing the signature with his now free hand. The year seemed to bring something in his mind, a memory of tales passed onto him by his relatives.

“1477. A year after the first time...” he took a deep breath and looked at the Belmont in the painting “The first time Dracula died.” realisation washed over him “Trevor and his wife Sypha.” he whispered to himself “But why…”

They seemed happy in the painting, relaxed in a way that Richter found himself in Annette’s company.

Richter took a deep breath, putting a hand over his mouth and frowned. The way they were in the painting suggested it wasn’t planned, therefore the artist had the idea of immortalizing that moment of his own volition.

“They were important to the artist.”

He knew Trevor used the help of three people; his wife, Sypha Belnades, a traveler, Grant Danasty, and Dracula’s only son, Alucard. The painting did not show Grant anywhere and, as a traveler, Richter doubted he had had any painting classes to create such a piece, leaving Richter with Alucard in his mind.

He did not know the end of Alucard, having heard that he went back to his slumber after helping in his father’s defeat. However, he was the only one that tied Trevor to the castle.

The signature sat on the corner of the painting, shy of the rest of the scenery. The swiftness of the writing showed dexterity with a brush; someone that could have taken painting classes and was used to doing it; clearly from the upper class.

“Adrian Tepeș.”

Something inside his mind clicked, a connection that turned his stomach upside down. He turned his head to the sides, walking around the room. The darkness nothing empaired in his search, in his grasp to know if his thought process was correct.

He stumbled on a desk, its legs scraping on the floor and echoing in the room. He looked over his shoulder, at the light coming from the door. Silence reigned and he turned his attention back to the desk.

It had a couple of books on top of it, alongside quills and rulers. He went through the books, but they were simply mathematics and philosophy books. There was a single drawer under the desk and he pulled on it, hearing the rattle of things inside, but it was locked. He settled the candle holder on top of the desk and pulled his dagger, breaking the lock of the drawer.

There were a few notebooks inside it and Richter pulled the first one he saw, opening it under the candles’ light and frowned slightly, noticing it was a journal.

_11th of July, 1465_

_In my anatomy class today, father seemed uncomfortable when mother started to present the male reproductive tract, excusing himself from the room. His actions made her laugh, but I did not understand the reason for it._

He continued passing the pages and the journal ended with an entry in 1467. He glanced back at the journals and grabbed another one, going through the pages until 1475 came into his view. The writing in the page wasn’t neat as the others entries, the pages rough to the touch, yellowed with the passing of time.

_2nd of November, 1475_

_My mother is dead. A part of me and my father died today._

_3rd of December, 1476_

_It has been two days since I aided in the murder of my father. The uncertainty of mourning him tears into my heart. Wishing upon a different resolution could do no better than face what I have done._

_They left two days ago._

_14th of January, 1477_

_I’ve been alone in this castle for so long that I fear to have become one with the furniture. I pass the time as I can, rebuilding what remains of it and of myself. I did not know that loneliness weakened beings such as myself, but it seems to plague every living creature capable of thought. Were I in the wilderness, becoming prey to a ravenous wolf would be a comfort in comparison to the loneliness within these walls._

_1st of February, 1477_

_I met two people today. Twins that wish to learn more about fighting and how to defeat creatures of the night. They bring joy to a once empty space with their laughter and inquiries. However, I have noticed that the void in my chest, which consumes me most in the darkest hours of the day, can not be filled with any one’s company but with the two people I miss the most._

_13th of February, 1477_

_I have placed their bodies in front of the castle. I am, in the end, my father’s son._

_15th of February, 1477_

_Their touch still lingers on my skin, but it is nothing more than a ghost of who I wish could be with me. If my loneliness is to be replaced with heartache, I do not wish to have companions, at least not human. Humankind has done nothing but bring sorrow to me._

_3rd of March, 1477_

_They arrived today. I would lie if I said my heart did not leap at the sight of them in my halls. They had stern faces and their tales gave me feelings I had longer ago experienced. In the darkness of my room and in the depth of my thoughts I wish they do not leave again._

_10th of March, 1477_

_Trevor told me that Sypha is pregnant. I have nothing in me but happiness for them._

Richter stopped reading and put a hand over his forehead, glancing at the painting. Alucard painted it while the couple stayed with him. The idea didn’t seem absurd to him as they had composed a team to defeat Dracula. He thought it bittersweet of Alucard’s actions to immortalize a moment such as that. Maybe his loneliness did eat him away.

Richter looked at the journal once again, understanding the painting and the connections to the castle and the Belmont family. He felt ready to close the book, but an entry caught his eyes.

_11th of July, 1478_

_Sypha is pregnant again. We do not know who the father is. Trevor claims to be him, boasting about the Belmont strong blood and that he was finally able to rebuild the Belmont clan. Sypha, however, thinks the same as myself. The chances of me being the father are higher than Belmont’s, given that I was the one who has laid with her the most._

Richter’s face burned and the wind that came from the outside did nothing to soothe his hot skin. He took a moment to understand that it wasn’t a matter of infidelity, but of shared relationship. Alucard calmly told the tales of his days with the couple and Richter felt himself enthralled with the entries. He wrote with lovely words towards the other two and no more loneliness was mentioned in the entries Richter scanned.

_20th of April, 1479_

_Belmont is the father of twins._

He could not hold a laughter that erupted from him.

Richter put the journal back into the drawer and closed it calmly as his eyes went back to the painting. He got up, walking to the painting and gave it a last look before throwing the drape over it again.

He knew Trevor and Sypha had many children together - an attempt of Belmont's genealogical tree could be found in his home - and Richter felt an itch to go back to read and find out if Alucard had had any with her. He chuckled, giving a step backwards.

Here he was, uncovering a part of the Belmont history that must have been forgotten. A different sort of connection to the creatures of the night, shining a different light in the place he understood to be foul. Perhaps, nothing was ever only one thing.

He turned around and closed the window, pulling the curtain closed again. He grabbed the candle holder and walked to the door, touching the doorknob. He glanced one last time to the covered painting, the darkness of the room already having claimed it back. Warmth bloomed in his chest, a quick twitch of his lips suggested a smile.

He opened the door and stepped out of the room, closing it behind himself and walked away.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm having a bit of trouble putting the image in here, so check out my
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/vincessus/status/1342604899662635009?s=20)
> 
> to see the piece!


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